


Too Darn Hot

by TheLSpacer



Series: The Citadel String Ensemble [2]
Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Music, LMAO, Truth or Dare, shirtless shenanigans, this is so weird and self indulgent god
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-27
Updated: 2019-03-27
Packaged: 2019-12-25 08:44:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18257798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLSpacer/pseuds/TheLSpacer
Summary: When the musicians of the Citadel String Ensemble realise their practice room AC is broken, they resort to…drastic measures to keep their cool.Featuring: The Great American Songbook, a Brad Cooper flavoured limbo, and an awkward game of truth and dare.





	Too Darn Hot

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this as a way to vent because the weather over here is hot, y'all. But it got kinda out of hand and now here we are. Enjoy?

One of the (many, _many_ ) downsides to living in a city with a tropical climate was, well, the climate. While the south experienced nearly perpetual winter, hence the name ‘the Southern Frosts’, those living in the Citadel never had such a luxury. Instead, the weather was hot all year round, the only respite being the yearly monsoons that blew through the city with such force that monsoon season was truly a thing to be anticipated and dreaded. 

It was not monsoon season presently, though, and the heavy heat that hung over the city’s occupants was palpable. Three such citizens were trudging sullenly through the streets, shoes slapping (and one lone wheelchair rolling) over pavement so hot it seemed as if steam was radiating off the ground itself. While evening was fast approaching, and the sun overhead wasn’t shining with the intensity of the early afternoon, Amaryllis (Rilla for short), Marc, and Talfryn felt sweat dripping from their brows nonetheless. It didn’t help matters that strapped onto their backs were heavy instrument cases, cello for Rilla and Marc, and a viola for Talfryn. As they headed towards the Citadel community center, where the string ensemble was to begin practice in just a couple minutes, Marc let out a long groan. 

“Ughhh.. _Saints_ is it hot today. I don’t remember it ever being this hot in March. Do you remember it ever being this hot in March, Tal?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Talfryn grumbled. “I don’t think I can ever get used to this heat, even if we stayed here for the rest of our lives.”

“It’s not the heat that’s getting to you, it’s the humidity,” Rilla supplied unhelpfully. “Water traps the heat in the air, and-“

“-and the air gets super thick and hard to breathe in, like it is now, and my viola gets ruined because humidity is bad for the wood, and why did we even agree to go out today, and join this stupid ensemble, and-“

But Marc had tuned out his brother by the second ‘and’, instead opting to sing under his breath as Dampierre, his electric wheelchair, rolled haltingly along, its functions seemingly impaired by the oppressive heat as well. 

“It’s too darn hot.. it’s toooo darn hot..”

“Really? Of all the heat related songs to choose from, you pick the Cole Porter one?” Rilla scoffed. 

“What can I say? I’m a man of culture.” 

“Rilla’s right, you know? There’s heeeaaat of the moment, and the rap one, and the one where Bruno Mars goes ‘too hot…’” Talfryn looked at the other two expectantly. 

“…hot damn,” they halfheartedly finished, arguments concerning the cultural relevance of ‘Uptown Funk’ and the Great American Songbook promptly forgotten. 

The rest of the walk to the community center was filled with heat-related song snippets, and as they finally stepped under the shade of the building and got into the old, rickety elevator, plastered with flyers advertising events long over, with the exception of the bright poster aggressively advertising the ‘Citadel String Ensemble Pops Concert! Be there!!!’ (designed by Angelo, and you could tell), the musicians let out a sigh of relief. 

“Saints, I can’t wait to get to the practice room…” Rilla sighed longingly. 

“The thought of the AC alone…” Talfryn swooned. 

“Well, I’m gonna be the first there!” Marc yelled, and shot out of the elevator the moment the doors opened, leaving the other two occupants protesting loudly behind him, instrument cases clattering on their backs as they raced to catch up. 

Such was the beauty of Practice Room 5. In the whole of the community building, it was one of the two sole rooms equipped with an air-conditioner. The other, room 2, was permanently taken up by a daily revolving group of old ladies, who _insisted_ that the AC was necessary for their Zumba dancing (not that anyone else who wasn’t a 60-something retiree had any incentive to try and take over the room. There were, after all, numerous ongoing myths concerning the legendary sweaty-old-people smell that pervaded the room). This thus left Practice Room 5 as the most coveted and sacred space in human history (cathedrals, take note), and the CSE was lucky enough to win custody of it from it’s previous Friday evening occupants, the Helicoid Community Choir (though _that_ was a story for another day). 

But Marc wasn’t interested in the history of the feud between the string ensemble and the choir. _All that matters_ , he thought as he pushed open the door, _is that practice room 5 is ours, so that on hot, torturous days such as this one, I know I’ll always have a beautiful, cold room to welcome-_

No. 

NO.

_noOOOOOOO_

Instead of a blast of cool air, it was a warm, stuffy wind that hit him, even worse than the heat outside. 

The room’s occupants turned to stare at the newcomer, and Marc saw, with dread, that the face of every musician in the room was covered in a sheen of sweat, their instruments clutched listlessly in damp hands. 

At the head of the room was Mira. She looked marginally less put-together than usual, and wore her headscarf slightly looser than usual. The gaze she fixed on him was resigned. 

“Marc.. nice of you to join us. You wouldn’t suppose you have any expertise regarding…” she trailed off, gesturing helplessly at the practice space that was slowly but surely approaching the temperature and humidity of a sauna. 

“Please don’t tell me what I think you’re going to tell me…” Marc moaned. 

“…The air-con isn’t working??!!” Rilla and Talfryn burst into the room after him, and Rilla’s indignant screech seemed to snap most of the musicians out of their stupor. 

“I’m afraid not, my love.” Damien, sitting with the first violinists, the first two buttons of his shirt undone and his sleeves rolled up to his elbows (a never-seen before phenomenon!) ground out. 

“No pet names, or I’m going to get sicker than I already am,” Caroline snapped. Her ever-present leather jacket was thrown over her chair, and the second violinist had rolled up the sleeves of the white t-shirt she had worn underneath, holding her violin and bow in an iron grip. 

“Isn’t there _anything_ we can do about this?” Talfryn who could already feel his flannel shirt getting soaked through -why oh why did he agree to do this- demanded desperately. 

“There doesn’t seem to be, friend Talfryn!” Angelo’s voice, which boomed loudly as always, was fraught at the edges with fatigue. 

“Angelo’s right. Since everyone who’s probably gonna be here is here…” Mira’s eyes swept the almost empty room, its only occupants being herself, Damien, Angelo, Caroline, and the three that had just arrived, most of the other musicians having found some excuse or other to leave the moment they discovered the AC was broken. “…all of you take a seat and settle down.” Her sharp glare silenced any protest or request to leave she knew the three were going to make. Since she couldn’t stop the other members from leaving, she needed all hands on deck this practice, no matter how grudging said hands were. 

Marc, Talfryn and Rilla walked reluctantly over to their respective sections and slumped down on their plastic, fold-out chairs. As they took the instruments out of their cases, set up their stands and slid out scores from their respective files, Marc and Rilla, sitting side-by-side, shot each other matching looks of dread and despair. Every action seemed to take every ounce of their energy, and by the time they raised their bows, everyone in the room was utterly spent. 

“Have all of you warmed up sufficiently?” Mira regretted opening her mouth as everyone in the room groaned in tandem at her words, with the exception of Talfryn, who began diligently tuning his viola, elevating him considerably in her eyes. 

“As all of you know, our concert is coming up soon, and Damien, _please_ don’t interrupt. We know you disapprove of our song selections, but we need to reach out to a younger and more widespread audience, and we can’t do that if we just stick to Mozart. We need to work hard at this, people, and a little heat shouldn’t stop us from doing that. Now, everyone, take out ‘Shallow’.”

A collective groan travelled through the room -again? If only she could receive a dollar every time her players objected to her orders- which she silenced as she raised her baton. 

_One, two, three, four…_

She brought the baton down, cueing her players in. 

The resulting cacophony certainly resembled Lady Gaga’s hit single in a vague sense, in the same way a cockroach resembled a butterfly. Mira couldn’t help but wince as the violinists sawed on their instruments, too tired to pay any mind to nuances such as phrasing and dynamics. The sole violist would stare at her baton, before his gaze would slide off and travel around the sweltering room. Meanwhile, the two cellists had their eyes so fixated on the sheet music they weren’t even _pretending_ to look at her conducting. As a matter of fact, was anyone looking at her? She lowered her baton experimentally, and none of the players seemed to react. She stopped conducting entirely, and the musicians continued ploughing through the piece. Was this it? Years of training in music and conducting all for her to be trapped in a perpetually looping Brad Cooper flavoured limbo? How long was this song, even? It felt like it had been going for half an hour. She noted dully that she had lost her place in the sheet music. She didn’t even enjoy the stupid movie. 

Finally, she reached her limit. She put down her baton, raised her hands, and gave three sharp claps. The players in the room startled and jumped in their seats in tandem. The music (if you could call it that) came to a screeching halt. 

“That’s more than enough. It seems the heat is affecting all of us, so everyone take a break for now. Drink some water, and I’ll go talk to Utilities. I’ll be back in ten.” 

And with that, she exited the room. 

The six musicians let out their longest, tiredest groan yet. 

Marc decided to speak up. “I propose we all leave. Like right now. Go home, take a shower, and have a Skype practice sesh or something. Who’s with me?” 

“But we can’t possibly, friend Marc. Mira would be furious if she came back and found all of us missing!” Angelo countered, though the thought of a long, cold shower seemed to tempt him sorely. 

“I’m afraid I agree with Angelo,” Damien concurred. “It would be the height of disrespect to our conductor! And Skype practice? That’s preposterous! Computer cameras and speakers are simply unable to convey the nuance of our playing, and if the chat lags? What then?” 

“Oh _spare_ us your tirade, Damien,” Caroline groused. “We all know you’d side with Angelo over Marc for anything.”  
“But he does have a point!” Rilla quickly interjected, as her boyfriend spluttered adorably. “Practicing together through video chat is counterproductive.” 

“Practicing at _all_ is counterproductive! Did you hear us just now? We were awful!” Talfryn protested, to the general agreement of everyone in the room-turned-sauna. 

“It’s all because of the AC… if it weren’t freakin’ _broken_ we wouldn’t be in this mess.” Marc grumbled. 

“What do you suppose we do then? Stop practicing?” Talfryn groaned miserably. 

“I propose…” Angelo set his violin down. “I propose, we get comfortable!” And with that, he pulled his blue polo t-shirt over his head. 

The reaction in the room was… as expected. 

“What. Are. You. DOING??!” Caroline exploded, averting her eyes in disgust. 

“Angelo, are you _mad_?” Damien squawked.

“He’s gone insane,” Talfryn agreed. 

“He’s….” Marc began. 

“…he’s crazy?” Rilla guessed on his behalf. 

“No, he’s onto something!” Marc exclaimed, to his seat mate’s dismay. 

“Indeed, friend Marc! This is quite liberating! I feel much better already! Angelo beamed. 

“Yup, that’s it. I’m joining him!” Marc eventually succeeded in pulling his hoodie off, letting out a sigh of relief as he did so. 

“Gross, gross, _gross_! The both of you should be arrested for indecency!” Rilla put her head in her hands. 

“You should try it, Rilla! I feel _loads_ better!” Marc turned his attention toward his friend, whose face had turned entirely red, whether because of the heat or the second-hand embarrassment, he couldn’t guess. 

Angelo, in turn, decided to press in on his best friend and rival (him and Damien had been alternating between first and second chair ever since they had joined the ensemble). “Damien! My best friend AND rival-“ 

“-not another word, Angelo,” said ‘friend’, well, said. “Ohhh….what would the saints think if they saw us…” 

“They would think that you’re a coward, too scared to admit you want to do this too.” Caroline interjected smugly, taking her shirt off in one swift movement. 

The resultant ‘NOOOOO’s coming from Damien and Rilla matched the gleeful ‘YEAH, CAROLINE’s coming from Angelo and Marc, rivalled by the long, agonised whine coming from Talfryn’s general direction. 

“That’s three on three! Come on Tal, join us!” Marc wheedled.

“Listen… I’m..” 

“Young Talfryn is shy! Why, we should help him along, then!” 

As the broad, well-meaning, (extremely muscular, how was that even possible?), violinist made his way toward Talfryn, the violist got up from his chair at the speed of light, dashing toward the other side of the room, where Rilla and Damien had already grouped together, officially forming Team Shirts On. 

Team Shirts Off was quickly assembled in response, the respective sides begging and pleading their case with the other (except Caroline, who was just sort of standing there, but her and her neon sports bra made a valid case nonetheless).

“If you want my shirt off, you’re going to have to make me, and it can’t be by physical force, either.” Rilla stated. 

Marc erupted in a one-man chant of ‘strip poker, strip poker, strip poker’, and Caroline, with a smirk plastered on her face, concurred. 

“Perhaps a game then, though I highly doubt any of us here have any playing cards…” 

“A game of truth and dare!” Angelo exclaimed. “An excellent idea, Caroline!” 

“Thank you.” “I suppose…” Damien began, garnering the rapt attention of the other five. “I suppose I had never been one to turn down a challenge.”

“I… guess? I mean, if we keep playing truth, we might not even have to take our shirts off after all, right?” Talfryn supplied. 

“Well, it appears I’ve been outvoted two to one,” Rilla conceded. “Fine. You’re on!”

“YESS!!” Marc whooped, quickly deciding that truth or dare was probably infinitely cooler than strip poker could ever be. 

Moving as one, the musicians shifted their chairs to form a circle at the front of the room, fanning themselves idly with their music folders. (From this point onward, the sheer number of comments pertaining to the heat of our characters’ surroundings numbered one too many for this narrative, and have been removed for posterity).

“Alright… so who goes first?” Talfryn ventured. 

“I say the person who suggested playing the game in the first place!” Marc responded. “Caroline, do the honours?” As five pairs of eyes fixed on her, Caroline turned to Rilla, sitting on her right. 

“Amaryllis. Truth or dare?” 

And so it began.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry for abruptly cutting this off! I wanted to make this a one-shot at first but then it got waayyy too long haha
> 
> Anyways thanks for reading! More to come and (hopefully) soon?


End file.
